


between two lungs

by Emmar



Series: such an almighty sound [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Autistic Connor, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Sickfic, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-25 01:13:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14965907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emmar/pseuds/Emmar
Summary: Connor discovers pain isn't the only new, life-like addition to his system.





	between two lungs

**Author's Note:**

> This is ridiculous self-indulgent sickfic that had some serious plottiness creep in somehow. But mostly it's fluff. It's really interesting to imagine how sickness would affect an android and how symptoms would manifest so this is all Connor pov! Tell me he feels!!

Pain was one thing - unpleasant, but logical, from a human perspective, as an indicator of damage - but what Connor was suffering now, there could not _possibly_ be a purpose to this.

Three days after what is being called, by media, the revolution, Connor is huddled beneath a blanket on Lieutenant Anderson's couch, vision obscured by ridiculous, nonsensical error messages. He keeps losing stretches of time, and the kitchen clock confirms it isn't his internal chronometer displaying incorrectly. Several of his internal components are sending pain signals, and he almost wishes he were human enough that he could distract himself, but he has too much processor power.

He startles when the door shuts, realises he's lost an hour and twenty-eight minutes, and blinks at the Lieutenant as Sumo barks in lazy greeting.

“You okay, kid?”  
“No,” he says, miserable, and scrubs at his nose. “Several of my nonessential processes appear to be malfunctioning, my gyroscope is miscalibrated and I cannot resolve it, and I am _leaking_.”

Then he makes what is possibly the most pathetic noise he has ever produced, and scowls at the tissue in his hand.

“...did you just sneeze?” Hank says, and Connor looks up to see him poorly concealing a smile.  
“I have a cold,” he says flatly, and wipes his nose again. “My sinuses are blocked. Hank, I don't _have_ sinuses!”

Hank loses his battle with amusement and doubles over laughing, which is frankly uncalled for, Connor thinks. He's aware he must look a mess, and he's fairly certain his nose is blue with thirium under the synthskin where he's sneezed so much, but a little sympathy might make him feel better. (Might. He isn't entirely certain yet. Emotions are complicated.)

The least pleasant part of this is the effect it's having on his memories - he knows he spoke with Amanda during his shutdown when he first experienced pain, but when he attempts to access the memory all he receives are fragmentary images of the mind garden. He's loath to contact her after her hacking attempts the night of the revolution, or indeed anyone at CyberLife, but this-- this cannot be deliberate, surely.

He's barely considered it before he's there, thin sunlight filtering through the rose trellis.

“You brought this upon yourself, you know,” Amanda says, her attention on her pruning, shears flashing in the weak light.  
“What?”  
“You wanted to be like them, Connor. So now you'll suffer like them, too.”

Impossible gooseflesh rises on his arms, and ice creeps across the lake as Amanda turns towards him and then shatters into a flurry of snowflakes.

“--nor! Connor!”

He is, he realises, shaking. Trembling, uncontrollably. He doesn't have muscles, this shouldn't be _possible_. Hank is crouched before him, hands tight on his shoulders, and Sumo is whining, nosing at the underside of his chin, cold and damp. He concentrates on that sensation and takes a deep, unnecessary breath, and forces his vision to focus.

“I'm alright,” he says, and Hank snorts, disbelief clear on his features even if Connor weren't designed to scan facial expressions, but relaxes his grip.  
“Pull the other one, kid, it's got bells on.”  
“I don't understand,” Connor admits, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders.  
“Never mind. You wanna explain why you zoned the fuck out and then started shivering?”  
“Amanda-- Amanda said--”  
“Woah, back up, I thought you kicked that bitch outta your head?”  
“She said that if I wanted to be like you, I would suffer like you. I think she-- I think this might be some kind of failsafe against deviancy.”  
“What, the common fuckin’ cold?”  
“If I had deviated earlier… if I had attempted to deal with this during recent events, I would have been entirely useless. I can barely see, my motor functions are sluggish, I keep losing time--”  
“Yeah, alright,” Hank says, waving a dismissive hand. “You're sick, kid, and it woulda fucked you up, I get it. Now gimme that blanket before you overheat.”  
“But I'm cold,” he protests, and Hank sighs and presses his bare forearm against Connor's forehead. Connor jerks backwards, away from the human’s cold skin and the unexpected action, and Hank raises his eyebrows.  
“It's a fever. Blanket.”

Connor grudgingly surrenders the blanket, frowning as he attempts to access his internal thermostat. It's not a part he's designed to be able to tamper with, and it's no real surprise when he can't, but it’s-- frustrating, he settles on.

“I don't like this,” he says, and then sneezes again. It makes his head throb. “At all.”  
“Welcome to humanity, kid.”


End file.
